


Cave of Webs

by neveralarch



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: M/M, Web of Caves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-26
Updated: 2012-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-30 12:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>A moment after they landed, the Doctor noticed the approaching alien on the monitor.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cave of Webs

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted for a prompt on the best_enemies anonmeme. Based of a Doctor Who spoof which you can watch [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pnP_BB_9fMs%22).

A moment after they landed, the Doctor noticed the approaching alien on the monitor. He (probably a he) was heading directly for the TARDIS, picking his way through the broken rock of the planet’s surface. The Doctor said as much to the Master, who was lounging around, too lazy or too complacent or too Masterly to bother putting on any clothes. His russet-brown hair and moustache looked newly combed and impeccable, though, which was just like him. He'd taken the time to retouch his mascara as well.

"What does he want?" asked the Master.

"I don't know," said the Doctor. He tugged his cravat into a slightly better position. At least one of them was good enough to dress for company. "Shall I find out?"

"He can go hang," said the Master. He lounged a bit more pointedly. "This planet can go hang. Come back to bed."

"I really think I should find out," said the Doctor. "Look, he's about to knock."

"Doctor," said the Master, warningly, but the Doctor was already opening the door.

"Hello," said the alien. He had a hairstyle reminiscent of very trendy or very outdated Humans, tremendous amounts of eyeshadow and lipstick, and a pleather vest. This was typical of aliens, the Doctor had found.

"Can I help you?" asked the Doctor.

"No, you can't!" shouted the Master. The Doctor hoped the alien hadn't heard.

"Yes." The alien got its next words out rather haltingly. "I'm bad."

Oh dear, not again, thought the Doctor. This would keep happening to him.

"Stop us," said the alien, with little jazz hands.

"I'm going to make breakfast," announced the Master.

The Doctor decided where his interests lay, and started to close the door.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," protested the alien. "Doctor!" Its voice went all squeaky.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, and halted his retreat.

The alien decided funny voices were working, and kept experimenting. It was somewhat sad, decided the Doctor, but it was true that he liked a bit of an odd voice. It kept his interest until the alien went away, at least.

"Is there any toast?" he asked, closing the door at last.

"There's bread," said the Master. He'd put clothes on, which was actually a bit disappointing, come to think of it. "I can show you how a toaster works, if you like."

The Doctor tried to think of a sarcastically polite way of saying 'get stuffed.' He couldn't, so he just said that instead.

"Lovely," said the Master. "Anyway, is that alien gone?"

"For now," said the Doctor. "I doubt that'll be the last we see of him."

"I know, he's coming back tomorrow. I could hear him all through the corridors. Silly voices," the Master continued disdainfully. "I never used silly voices."

"You were American for a while," pointed out the Doctor. He stuck a few pieces of bread into the toaster.

"Petty prejudice is below you, Doctor. I enjoyed that body." The Master took his plate of sautéed potatoes and eggs to the table. "Except for when it was falling apart, that was a bit gauche."

"That wasn’t petty prejudice,” said the Doctor. He turned up the dial on the toaster. The Master always left it too low, as if he only wanted heated bread instead of proper toast. “You were Human, besides being American. And Trakenite before that. The vocal cords were all wrong for you."

"I came by my voices naturally, then."

"Unnaturally," muttered the Doctor. His toast was taking far too long.

"I wasn't just putting them on for the melodrama," said the Master, rolling his eyes. "Can't you just admit that this alien was a pretty paltry excuse for a villain? He didn't even have a plan."

"At least he's trying," said the Doctor. "I don't see you making very many plans these days. Unless they're plans like 'oh, today I might wear the grey jacket instead of the black one.'" He knew his imitation of the Master's voice was a bit on the camp side, but all to the better. "'Oh, Doctor, I have a plan to sleep the entire day and not give over the duvet.'"

The Master glared, dark and poisonous, and the Doctor felt a little thrill. The moment was ruined by the toast finally popping up, but it had been there.

They fought for the rest of the day. The Master wanted to leave, but the Doctor was standing by what he had told the alien. He'd still be here tomorrow morning, and the fact that it was driving the Master to distraction was only a very large bonus. He actually caught the Master trying to take over the TARDIS' controls, just like the old days. It gave the Doctor a warm glowing feeling that nearly made up for the cold spot next to him when the Master decided to sleep in the spare bedroom.

\---

The next day began, bright and dull. By midday, the Doctor had been up for ages, but the Master was the one to actually get food started, as usual. The Doctor disapproved of this regeneration's fixation on late breakfasts, but he did appreciate the regular meals.

"Tea's up," said the Master. He was in a robe, which was a bit irritating this late in the day, but he'd actually brought the tea with him, steaming hot and enticing.

"Hold on," said the Doctor, glancing at the monitor. "The alien's back. With a friend."

"Not man enough to take you on alone?" The Master sneered. “I suppose he would need help.”

"Really now. Is there an evil race you _haven't_ allied with?"

"I was manipulating them," said the Master, defensively. "All of them. I was the power behind the throne."

"Mhm." The Doctor turned away from the monitor. "I'm sure the Rani and the Daleks _loved_ being 'manipulated.' You're so good at it, you must have gotten a lot of practice."

"Is that supposed to imply something?" The Master set the teacups down on the sidetable. "How tawdry. You know very well that the Daleks don't even have sex organs. In fact, the Rani doesn't even have-"

The knock arrived at last, and the Doctor opened the door, taking his tea with him.

"I came yesterday," said the alien, to begin with.

"Oh, yes," said the Doctor. How bad did they think his memory was? He started to take a sip of tea, but decided to fake it instead, for the appearance of nonchalance. It wouldn't do to have liquid in his mouth if he started laughing.

It was a close thing, when the aliens began to outline their 'new' plan.

"We will drain the world's oceans," explained the alien, and it only became less creative from there. The alien's friend just sort of nodded along. The Doctor wondered if he was there for moral support or just to create the appearance of multitude. He wasn’t very good at whatever he was supposed to be doing, in the Doctor’s opinion.

The alien finished explaining its plan to destroy the planet, and looked at the Doctor expectantly.

"What do you want to do that for?" he asked.

"Power," said the alien, and oh, there were the jazz hands again. The Master was right, this was a bit pathetic.

It didn't take the Doctor long to fob them off with some false promise to meet back on Wednesday. The planet was in no real danger from this pair, he was sure. He'd land on a better planet, one with proper creative villains.

"We're leaving," he told the Master.

" _Thank_ you." The Master actually looked suitably appreciative. The Doctor gave a small smile and began to take a proper sip of his tea.

The Master smirked. The Doctor stopped, and sniffed at the cup.

"Something amiss?" The Master looked comically concerned. The Doctor's suspicions deepened.

"It seems fine." The Doctor sniffed again. "You put in enough sugar. I usually have to do it myself."

"Call it an apology for last night."

They looked deep into each other's eyes. The Master projected an air of innocence.

"You poisoned this, didn't you," said the Doctor. "Oh, Master, you do care."

The Master beamed.

"Come on," said the Doctor. "Let's get out of here." He hit the TARDIS' randomizer button, and pulled the Master to him by the belt of his robe.

The dematerialization didn't even last long enough for the Master to get the Doctor's cravat off. To be fair, it was a complicated cravat.

"I better check and make sure nothing's gone wrong," said the Doctor. He disentangled himself from the Master, despite the other's threats. They were nice threats, at least. Full of hateful feeling.

He looked out, saw the aliens again, and hurried back in as fast as he could.

"We moved about a meter. You steer this time."

"My pleasure, Doctor." The Master cackled.

"Ooh, let’s not go that far." The Doctor winced. "Less of the cackling."

"I thought you liked the cackling." The Master glanced sideways at the Doctor was he fiddled with the console, and the TARDIS lurched back into dematerialization.

"I was trying to spare your feelings," said the Doctor. "It's a hair over the top, if you want my honest opinion."

"I always did it specially for you," said the Master. He was closing his robe, and the Doctor could feel the mood evaporating.

"Well, you can stop," he said. If that's how it was, he might as well get everything off his chest. "The mascara too, incidentally. You wear nearly as much make-up as those ridiculous aliens we just left behind."

"It cuts down glare," said the Master, unconvincingly. "Anyway, if we're critiquing appearance, I have to tell you that the curly hair and sideburns should really go."

"I love my sideburns," said the Doctor.

"Then fuck off about the mascara," said the Master.

They glared at each other, and went to opposite corners of the TARDIS.

\---

In the end, they both sulked until the Master finally poisoned a plate of scones so undetectably that not even he noticed. The convulsions were highly unpleasant, though the Doctor treasured the look on the Master’s face as he realized what he had done and what they had just eaten. The late breakfasts had gotten them both, in the end.

Fortunately, their next regenerations were much more suited to one another. Or, at least, they were unsuited to each other in more enjoyable and slightly less deadly ways.


End file.
